


Sick

by WayWardWonderer



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Cold, Doctor - Freeform, Fever, Flu, Friendship, Gen, Understanding, ill, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWardWonderer/pseuds/WayWardWonderer
Summary: Sherlock is sick and Kitty asks Joan to help her take care of the ailing consultant.





	Sick

Joan was rudely awakened by her phone buzzing with an incoming text. She looked at the display on her alarm clock: '5:27am'. Propping herself up on her elbows, dark strands of her hair hanging in her face and her blanket hanging off her shoulders, Joan grabbed her phone and read the message.

 _'Needed at the Brownstone'_.

"Sherlock..." She said to herself.

Instead of replying she just sat her phone back on the table and laid down again, curling up on her side to try and salvage what sleep she could. Just as she began to doze off back into a peaceful slumber her phone buzzed again. Angrily she grabbed her phone and checked the message.

_'Emergency. Please come.'_

More annoyed than concerned Joan decided to call Sherlock rather than respond to the text. To her surprise the voice that responded wasn't Sherlock's, it was Kitty's.

"Kitty? Why are you using Sherlock's phone? What's going on?"

"Sherlock is ill."

"And?" She flipped over onto her back and leaned against her pillow, she pressed her palm against her face in irritation.

"He won't allow me to take him to the clinic. He needs medical attention but he won't listen to reason."

"And you think he'll listen to me?"

"No. But you are a physician and can provide help. Please?"

Joan heard the sincere desperation in her voice. "Alright. I'll come over."

"Wonderful. I look forward to your arrival."

Both women ended the call simultaneously. "Wonderful..." Joan repeated.

* * *

Joan arrived at the brownstone within twenty minutes of the ended phone call. She was not happy to be woken up so early and really wasn't ready to spend alot of time with either Sherlock or Kitty, after dealing with their tense 'reunion'. Just as Joan's finger met the doorbell the large front door swung open quickly with Kitty standing on the other side.

"Please, come in. He's in the study."

Joan immediately noticed that Kitty looked as though she was up all night and the fear in Kitty's voice made her stomach drop.

Following Kitty into the study Joan saw Sherlock laying on his back on the small sofa. His grey t-shirt was drenched in sweat and his face was shockingly pale, even for him. Dark purple circles under his eyes only accentuated his sickly pallor, while the sheen of sweat on his face was just as abundant as the sweat on his shirt. His breathing sounded heavy as he took in deep, slow labored breaths.

Forgetting her lingering resentment for Sherlock, Joan walked over to him and kneeled down on the floor next to the sofa. She placed her hand on his forehead and felt the intense fever that was ravaging his body. "How long has he been like this?" She asked Kitty without taking her eyes from Sherlock, her fingers now checking his wrist to measure his pulse.

"For about two hours now." Kitty looked at her mentor's face with concern. "It started yesterday morning. He had only a cough and lack of appetite, but his symptoms continued mount and proceeded to get worse as the day wore on."

"What about the fever?" She finished checking his pulse and was now checking his eyes, he didn't react to Joan's examination of his ailing body.

"The fever started around noon yesterday. Approximately 37.9 degrees." Kitty quickly caught her mistake in 'Western grammar' when she saw Joan arch her eyebrow. "I apologize, 100.3 degrees Fahrenheit." She continued as she mentally calculated the appropriate conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit. "Last night his fever spiked in degree to 102.5, but he wouldn't take any medication and refused to see a physician."

Joan sighed and shook her head. As a recovering addict Sherlock would and should be very cautious about taking any medication that could be categorized as a narcotic. "What are his other symptoms?"

"Uh," Kitty paused for a moment as she recounted all the signs she had seen his exhibit the day before. "cough, fever, lack of appetite, exhaustion. That's all I can say for certain."

Carefully Joan opened Sherlock's mouth to check his throat for irritation and his tonsils for swelling, but there was no sign of infection. "Probably a respiratory infection." She finally gave a possible diagnosis to fit his confirmed symptoms.

"Is it serious?"

"Serious enough." Joan tried to rouse Sherlock by patting his face, then rubbing her knuckles down his sternum.

The pain from the sternal rub was enough to bring Sherlock around from his fever induced slumber. His glassy, bloodshot eyes struggled to focus as they slowly opened. "Watson?" His voice carried a mild slur. "Where is... Kitty?"

"She's with me." Joan answered calmly. "She called me."

"Why?" He blinked and his eyes reopened slowly, his overwhelming fatigue was still present.

"Why? Why do you think? You're sick."

"Nonsense. A mild cold at worst."

"Sherlock, you're burning up. You're probably a little dehydrated and you haven't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. You should go to the hospital-"

"No. No hospital... no doctors."

Kitty offered her opinion on the matter. "I think you should listen to her, Sherlock. After all she is a doctor and-"

" _Former_ doctor, Kitty. Former." Sherlock corrected her harshly.

"Former or not..." Joan butted in. "You're still sick and need to be taken care of." She stood up from the floor and looked at Kitty with uneasiness. "We're going to need some ice."

"Right." Kitty slipped into the kitchen leaving Sherlock and Joan alone.

"Watson," Sherlock slurred weakly. "you do not have to tend to my illness."

"Apparently I do. You won't take care of yourself and you won't let Kitty help either; otherwise she never would've used your phone to call me."

"What do you think?"

"Excuse me?"

"Of Kitty. What do you think of her?" Despite the fever he was studying Joan carefully.

"I think... she means well and has alot of potential. Why are you asking what I think of her?"

"Curiosity."

Kitty returned to the study with ice in a large bowl and two clean towels. "Here we are."

Joan took some of the ice and wrapped it up in a towel and laid the compress across his forehead. Taking the second towel Joan placed the rest of the ice and laid the compress across Sherlock's chest.

"If your fever doesn't start to come down within the hour I'm calling 911."

"Very well, Watson. Call for medical assistance I will simply refuse to go. I am of sound mind and body and thus am legally capable of declining any and all medical assistance when offered."

"Then I will drag you out the front door and into a taxi."

"Surely you jest, Watson. Physically you lack the proper strength to freely heft a person of my weight, even with adrenaline coursing through your veins it would be a challenge." He groggily looked at Kitty who shared the same look of determination on Joan's face. "Perhaps of course, your combined strength with Kitty would suffice."

Kitty addressed Joan flatly. "Has he always been this stubborn?"

"You have no idea." Joan adjusted the compress on his forehead. "But so have I."

* * *

 

Joan noted the time on her phone. "It been an hour, we need to check your temperature again."

Sherlock had been lingering in the realm between dream and reality, only barely keeping track of the activity taking place in the brownstone around him. He was vaguely aware of Joan slipping the glass thermometer between his teeth and gently holding his jaw shut to keep the device in place. He opened his eyes and through his blurry vision Joan's face came into view.

She took the thermometer from his mouth. "102.1, I think we need to take you to the hospital."

"No." Sherlock sounded hoarse and tired. "My fever has begun its decline, thus I am permitted to remain here in the brownstone."

Joan sighed. "I don't like this Sherlock, you may have a serious respiratory infection and if it's not treated properly you could develop severe complications that can cause permanent damage."

"The operative word in your statement is 'could' Watson, not 'will'."

Kitty walked into the room with a bottle of water in her hand and stared at Sherlock, having overheard his decision from the kitchen. "Are you daft? You would risk damaging your body just to avoid hospitals?"

"Hospitals _and_ doctors." Sherlock replied. "Current company excluded of course."

"Fine." Joan didn't want to argue with him. "At least drink some water."

Kitty handed the bottle to Sherlock who weakly took it from her grasp. He gingerly sipped the water and grimaced as he began coughing again.

"Sherlock," Joan continued to monitor his condition. "I don't like the sound of that cough."

"My apologies Watson," he paused to cough once more, his arm covering his mouth. "to which sound of a cough would you prefer?"

"That's not funny, this is serious." Joan scolded her former mentor but refrained from yelling at the ill man. "We want to help you."

When Joan said 'we' Kitty felt a twinge of relief knowing that Joan was willing to trust her, at least with Sherlock's health.

"I quite aware Watson, one does not simply aid a person who has caused damning rift in their former partnership for kicks!"

"But you still won't let us take you to the hospital?"

"No. I am conscious, I am coherent and I am an adult capable of making their own decisions."

"Fine, just try to get some rest." She removed the compresses that were dripping with melted ice from his body. "I'll be back with more ice."

Kitty followed Joan into the kitchen and watched as the former doctor slipped the icy wet towels into plastic lunch bags before wrapping fresh ice cubes into the same towels.

"Is he going to recover?" Kitty asked hesitantly. She was tense and fidgeting a little as she waited for a reply.

Joan looked at Kitty and saw the young protégé's concern. "He'll be fine. We just need to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything to inhibit his body's ability to heal."

"Agreed. So you'll take the first shift and I the second?"

"Spoken like a true apprentice."

Kitty hid her grin at the comment and returned to the study where Sherlock still laid. She curled up in the armchair across from the sofa and watched her mentor's chest slowly rise and fall with his stammering, uneven breaths. It seemed to surreal for her to him in such a state. He was always so strong, so in control and so full of energy. Now he was laying defenselessly drenched in his own sweat, unable to stand let alone solve crimes.

Joan returned to the study and placed the refreshed compresses to Sherlock's forehead and chest. She stepped out of the room and retrieved a small blue blanket from the nearby closet and draped it over Sherlock's sleeping form. "The blanket will keep the cold from the compress on his chest from escaping."

"Shouldn't the combination of cold and warmth also assist in breaking the fever?"

Sitting in the second chair, the one in eye piercing right orange fabric, Joan smiled. "Yeah. Do you know much about medicine?"

"Only home remedies and what my mum had done when I was little." Kitty's eye suddenly dulled with emotional pain.

'Her mom.' Joan thought to herself. 'Touchy subject.' "If we can reduce the fever enough to keep him from overheating but still allow his body to use the fever to fight the infection, he should recover within two or three days."

"Think he'll be able to survive three days without a puzzle to piece together?"

"I'm not sure _we'll_ be able to survive _two_ days without a puzzle for him to solve."

* * *

 

As Kitty dozed softly in the armchair Joan resumed checking Sherlock's fever. Even after four hours the thermometer continued to read '102.1'. Although his fever hadn't increased in degree she was worried that it wasn't decreasing either; a fever remaining static confirmed her suspicion of infection. Gently Joan put her hand on his chest to feel how labored his breaths were becoming.

She sighed quietly and removed the now warm compresses from Sherlock's body, they would need to be frozen again.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text message. She checked the device as she placed the compresses back into the freezer for future use. It was a message from Detective Marcus Bell. 'Are you busy? I have a case I'd like you to take a look at.'

Although she'd love to work on solving a case and not babysitting a stubborn man-child, she had to decline the offer. 'Busy today. I'll take a look tomorrow.'

Kitty walked into the kitchen, her eye shadow that had been applied yesterday was wearing thin and smudged down her pale face. "You rest now, I'll keep an eye on Sherlock."

"Are you sure? If you still need to sleep I can-"

"I'm fine." She put her hand up to stop Joan's sentence. "It's your turn to rest."

Joan forced a smile and accepted Kitty's answer. She walked into the study and curled herself up in the orange chair to rest, leaving her phone on the small table next to the chair. As she closed her eyes she could hear Kitty walking back into the room and smelled the cup of warm tea that Kitty had brewed. Within a few minutes Joan had managed to drift off to a light and much desired slumber.

Two hours had passed before Joan was startled awake by Kitty's frantic urging. "Joan! Wake up!"

Joan bolted upright in the chair and focused on Kitty. She saw the small woman trying to keep Sherlock's arms restrained as he began lashing out at the vivid nightmare that was plaguing his sleep. "Get back! Don't!" His voice was full of fear; an emotional reaction neither Joan or Kitty had ever seen him exhibit.

Worried that Sherlock might be having a seizure Joan assisted Kitty in holding Sherlock down on the sofa. "Sherlock! Sherlock?" Joan struggled to gain his attention.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly opened and his fit ended. He was panting quickly trying to catch his breath as he looked through his bloodshot, glassy hazel eyes to focus on Joan and Kitty's faces. "Watson? Kitty? What has happened?"

Kitty answered flatly. "You were having a nightmare and tried to fight off the boogeyman in your sleep."

Joan put her hand to his forehead again. "You're burning up! Let us take you-"

"No! No please, I beg of you." Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves. "I do not want to be placed under the microscope of overeager interns, or doctors seeking grants, or burned out nurses who secretly resent their patients and fantasize over their potential demise."

"Okay, okay." Joan could see in his eyes that Sherlock wasn't being stubborn, he just didn't want to go a place that resembled rehab. "You can stay here, but you have to let us help you."

"Thank you Watson. Kitty."

"Come on, you need to sit in an ice bath." Joan tried to pull Sherlock up from the sofa but he was too heavy to move by herself. Kitty leaned down and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, while Joan did the same with his other arm.

The two women were able to half carry, half drag Sherlock's weak body out of the study, up the stairs and into the bathroom. "Okay, almost there." Joan proceeded to draw the cool bathwater as Kitty helped him sit on the floor and lean against the wall. "Strip down and sit in the tub for at least an hour."

"Strip?" Sherlock gave her an odd look. "Might it be too much to ask for some privacy?"

"Fine." Joan obliged while she and Kitty walked out of the bathroom. "But don't lock the door!"

"Very well." Alone in the bathroom Sherlock managed to walk over to the tub and sit on the edge. He slowly removed his clothes with a grimace, he hated the cold.

Joan and Kitty walked into the hallway and stood outside the closed bathroom door. Kitty gave Joan a look of absolute of exhaustion. "Tell me, are things always this interesting and fun with Sherlock?"

"Not always."

"How fortunate." Kitty crossed her arms as she studied Joan's face.

"Look, if he ever asks you to patch him up after a stab wound or, I don't know, pull a bullet out of his shoulder; call me."

"I take it from your tone that you are speaking from past experience?"

"Yeah. I once found him bleeding in the study and he talked me into stitching him up after he'd been shot."

"No hospital?"

"No."

"I see a pattern of behavior emerging. I'm not too keen on this idea."

* * *

 

Joan looked down at her watch, Sherlock had been resting in a cool bath for just over half an hour and she decided she should check on him. "Sherlock?" She gently rapped on the closed door. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It does not take a genius to sit in a tub of water nor does it require a supervisor."

"Just checking." Joan responded to his sarcasm with her usual calm tone.

Kitty was watching Joan with building interest with the manner in which Joan repeatedly treated Sherlock. "He trusts you."

Joan looked at Kitty with utter confusion. "Pardon?"

"Sherlock. He trusts you. I can only imagine the endeavor one must undertake to receive such a seldom experienced bond such as yours with him."

"Sherlock and I have been through alot together, he understands me and I understand him. Sometimes."

"Indeed. If one is to share custody of a turtle I presume a degree of trust and respect has been earned."

"Are you okay?" Joan was absolutely stunned by Kitty's response to the bone of friendship she shares with Sherlock.

"I'm fine. I'm just... Nothing. Never mind." Kitty crossed her arms over her chest defensively and walked away from Joan, returning to the first floor of the brownstone.

Joan still had difficulty getting a solid read on Kitty which made it hard to get through the walls that Kitty had put up. Leaning against the wall Joan slid down against the smooth surface until she was sitting on the hardwood floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in an attempt to rest her weary mind.

* * *

Sherlock was resting his head on a towel as he continued to rest in the cool water. He refused to admit how horrible he felt and how he longed for a medication strong enough to make him sleep for a year. His body ached, he was nauseous, the still clinging sweat made him feel unclean despite the bathwater, his head was beginning to hurt, his throat was becoming irritated and sore and the damnable cough would random act up and send a wave of pain through his aching chest.

He looked around the bathroom and tried to focus his eyes on the mirror above the sink but the combined headache and fever caused his vision to become blurry and at times, doubled. The uneven patterns of light and shifting objects caused his nausea to worsen. Closing his eyes tightly he straightened his body and continued to rest.

His mind was racing with memories of his time with Joan and how she had selflessly tended to his needs even when he denied needing help of any kind. How she had taken care of him when he had taken ill before and how she was willing to take care of his bullet wound after being shot by Moriarty.

Ah yes, Moriarty. Jamie Moriarty or Irene Adler, she was one in the same. A clever seductress who uses her brilliance and wiles to charm the world into caving for her demands. Yet, Joan could see Moriarty for the vile criminal she was, even without years of experience in reading criminals or befriending Moriarty. Why he still had feelings, whether it was love or anger, for the dangerous woman still confused him. He knew she was a master manipulator and would surely cease any and all opportunities to escape her imprisonment and resume her criminal activities. If she did ever escape she would far more dangerous as she would have taken note of his mistakes and take the property liberties to avoid repeating any error in her future schemes.

Her bewitching beauty, smile, talent and above all else, intellect drew Sherlock into her world like a moth to a flame. The more he tried to deny his feeling for Moriarty the stronger her mental grip became.

The memories gave way to dreams. Dreams that were both real and surreal. Sensations that were vivid and painful. He could see her eyes, Moriarty's eyes. The eyes of the Devil staring at him, staring into him. He could not look away.

"Sherlock?"

A voice. A familiar voice. The voice of a friend.

"Sherlock!"

A warm hand pressed again his cool, sweaty face.

"Sherlock, look at me."

'Watson.' Sherlock opened his eyes and struggled to focus on the face concerned face of his dear friend.

Joan had walked into the bathroom to check on Sherlock after he failed to respond to her knocking at the door for the second time. She saw him in a deep slumber and once again lost in the throes of a nightmare. Leaning over the tub Joan could see the distress he was enduring, even if it was only a dream.

"Watson?"

"Are you okay? It looked like you were having another nightmare."

"One tends to suffer mild hallucinations when one is enduring a fever. I assure you that I am okay."

"It looks like the ice bath helped. Your body is cooling down."

"Then I may exit this bone-chilling vessel?"

"Yeah." She handed him a towel before returning to the door. "You can get out. Then go to bed."

"It is not even-"

"Doesn't matter. You need to rest." She left the room once more to give Sherlock some privacy.

Slowly Sherlock pulled himself up and out of the tub. His skin was beginning to 'prune' from the prolonged exposure to the water and his legs were shaking from his body being weakened by his ongoing ailment. Wrapping the towel around his waist he looked at his sickly reflection in the mirror. "Perhaps bed rest would be most beneficial."

Sherlock slowly stumbled out of the bathroom, bracing himself with his arm against the door frame to keep himself from falling face first onto the floor. He managed to redress himself from the waist down, he was too tried to put on his sweat stained shirt, much to Joan's relief. She watched him standing in the doorway for a few seconds before speaking up.

"Do you need some help?"

"Not at all Watson." His voice was low and without emotion. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his arm. "I'm merely pacing myself."

"Pacing? To walk down the hall?"

"One does not simply walk down a hall Watson, one travels from end of the brownstone to the opposite."

"Uh-huh." She was far from convinced. "Come on, let's go." She took his free arm and wrapped it around her shoulder as she guided him in small steps from the bathroom doorway to his bedroom. As his friend she wanted to see him get well, as a doctor she wanted to see him getting medical treatment. His pale face and clumsy movements convinced her the probable lung infection was in fact severe.

Walking into Sherlock's bedroom she released his arm from her shoulder and allowed him to walk the rest of the short distance to his (messy) bed. He placed his left hand on the mattress while his right hand covered his eyes. The headache had returned with a vengeance and caused intense pain that focused itself in the center of his forehead.

"Sherlock?" Joan took immediate notice of sudden discomfort.

"It's fine Watson. Only a headache." He lied through his gritted teeth as he attempted to deny his own excruciating ordeal.

"Do you want some aspirin?"

"No. I just require rest." He leaned down and rolled his body onto the bed and pulled the covers up and over his head, shielding his eyes from offending light that seeped in through the window.

"Okay." She accepted his answer out of respect but she was still worried that he could be much sicker than he was letting on. "I'm going back to my apartment, but you can always text me if you need anything."

Sherlock didn't answer. He slowed his breathing in attempt to soothe the throbbing pain in his head that was synchronized with his heartbeat. Although he didn't want Joan to go, he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay.

* * *

Kitty was sitting in the study mindlessly thumbing through a cold case file and sipping at her cooled tea as Joan walked down the staircase. She eyed her predecessor curiously as Joan reached for the doorknob of the large doorway.

"Is he alright?" Kitty asked gently, not wanting to unintentionally stir up trouble.

"Yeah, he's sleeping. He still looks pale and has a headache, but he hasn't been coughing too much lately, so I think he'll rest through the night pretty well."

"You won't be staying?"

"No." Joan gave Kitty puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"

"You're a doctor. Doctor's tend to stay with the ill, not leave them prey to their own vices."

"He won't be left alone, he has you."

Kitty closed the case file and stared at Joan. "You have got to be kidding."

"No." Joan double-checked her phone before looking back to Kitty. "You have the same instincts as Sherlock, and since you're still healthy you'll know if he gets worse before he does."

"He won't listen."

"No, probably not. But I will." On that last note Joan left the brownstone leaving Kitty alone to tend to Sherlock.

* * *

 

After refreshing her tea Kitty walked quietly up the stairs and stood in the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom. Her eyes were transfixed on the resting form of her mentor as his pale, ill body remained perfectly still beneath the thick covers. Sherlock was laying on his back, the covers fell away from his face as his body relaxed into a long needed rest. His face was pale and sweaty, his breathing was slow but steady and easily noticeable under the covers as the fabric rose and fell with his chest.

Kitty knew enough about Joan to trust her word as a doctor. But as a concerned friend she wasn't willing to take the chance that Sherlock's condition could suddenly deteriorate. Keeping quiet she walked into the room and sat in the worn armchair in the corner of the room and continued to remain vigil at his bedside. It didn't take long for Kitty to fall prey to sleep as well. Curling up in the chair and resting her head against her arm which was draped over the armrest, she shut her eyes and drifted off peacefully.

Coughing awoke Kitty after a few hours, she lifted her head and focused on Sherlock who was in the middle of a severe coughing fit. His whole body was wracking with each violent muscle spasm in his chest. From the bed she could see that Sherlock's pallor had somehow manage to pale even further and the sweating had intensified. Rushing to his side Kitty put her arms on his shoulders to try to ease his physical strain and keep him from falling off the bed onto the floor.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" She knew it was a stupid question to ask but at that moment she didn't care if he insulted her or answered sarcastically. She just wanted him to answer. "Can you breathe?"

The coughing fit had finally passed and he was taking in deep breaths through gritted teeth, his hand clutching at the right side of his ribcage. He weakly opened his eyes staring at Kitty, she could see him struggling to remember who she was and where he was; the fever causing mild delirium. "Kitty?"

"Yes. I'm here. What do you require?"

Sherlock winced in pain as he forced himself to take another deep breath. "I do not know." He answered feebly. "I do not have enough information to provide a logical answer."

Kitty gently put her hand to Sherlock's forehead. "You're fever has returned." His skin was clammy and abnormally hot to the touch.

"Kitty?" Sherlock's eyes began to glaze over as he spoke. "I need you... to..."

As his voice trailed away Kitty felt her heart skip a beat. "Sherlock?" She shook his gently. "Sherlock. What do you need me to do? Please answer!"

Instead of a verbal response he sat up straight suddenly and wrapped his arms around her waist like a small child clinging to their mother.

Initially Kitty flinched as he grabbed at her, the painful memories of her traumatic ordeal back in England still fresh in her mind. She slowly lowered her arms from a defensive posture and lightly returned Sherlock's 'hug' which thankfully seemed to calm him, his tense body relaxing beneath her hands. "Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"Don't leave me."

"I- I won't." She hated herself for stammering. "I won't leave you. What do you need?"

He didn't answer her question, he remained silent as his head rested against her side and arms began to droop away from her body.

Thinking quickly Kitty put her arms beneath Sherlock's and hefted him upright from the bed into an unbalanced standing position, she allowed his weakened body to slump against her own as he began fading into unconsciousness. With Sherlock wrapped in her arms in a tight grip Kitty began carefully stepping backward out of the room, nearly dragging the taller man as she exited the room and returned to the long hallway.

"Okay, we can do this." With all the grace of a newborn fawn Kitty 'escorted' Sherlock down the hall and back into the bathroom. She was disappointed to see that the tub water had already been drained, she'd have to refill it and that would take time. Instead she climbed into the tub and pulled Sherlock into the porcelain basin along side her, still allowing him to lay as a unconscious mass against her tiring body.

After repositioning herself and Sherlock, ensuring that he was face up and able to breathe normally, she let his heavy head rest against her shoulder. With her free arm she reached up and turned on the shower faucet to a chilly, but not too cold, temperature. From above the freed cool water drenched the stationary duo. Kitty sat in absolute misery as the abundant moisture caused her clothes to cling uncomfortably to her body.

"There we are." She spoke to Sherlock even though she did expect him to answer. Her teeth began to chatter slightly from the sudden temperature drop. "Not quite an ice bath, but this should suffice in reducing your temperature all the same."

"Kitty..." Sherlock mumbled weakly, his eyes remaining closed. "I need you to tell me something."

"What's that?" She brushed her wet bangs out of her eyes, smudging her eyeliner in the process.

"Am I a good person?"

The question was completely unexpected and sincere, but she didn't know to answer. Kitty had only known him for a few months and to offer a definitive answer for such a question seemed too illogical. Instead she chose to wrestle her opposite arm that was pinned beneath Sherlock's body free, and gently ran her hands through his short, damp hair to provide some degree of comfort as they sat together in the tub.

* * *

 

Joan returned to her empty apartment and took a long, relaxing shower of her own. She began replaying the day's events over in her mind, hoping to convince herself that it was okay for her to leave Sherlock at the brownstone with Kitty rather than checking him into the hospital. Standing in the shower Joan kept looking through the steamy transparent door to her phone sitting idle on the sink. With her curiosity burning Joan shut off the water and wrapped up in the soft cotton towel before checking her phone: No new messages, no missed calls.

"Good."

She placed the phone on her dresser while she dressed herself in fresh clean clothes, before caving in and decided to send Kitty a text; just to check in.

* * *

Kitty was still sitting in the shower with Sherlock leaning against her shoulder and chest. The chilly water that continued to wash over the duo was causing an increasing discomfort, but it was one that she was willing to endure to help reduce Sherlock's fever. From her pocket she felt her phone vibrate and make a small jingle from an incoming text.

"Oh, damn." Her phone was surely drenched and would fail soon.

Unable to answer her phone and unwilling to jostle Sherlock too much, Kitty dismissed the incoming message electing to answer it later. That is, if her phone would still work after 'its shower'.

* * *

Joan waited ten minutes for Kitty to answer the text. An immediate response wasn't expected or necessary but she couldn't help but worry. Scrolling through her list of contacts Joan's thumb hovered over Kitty's number for a few moments before she finally pressed dial.

* * *

Again from Kitty's pocket she heard her phone sounding off. This time for a call, not a text.

"Damn it!" She was growing annoyed by the noisy, intrusive nuisance. Looking over at Sherlock who seemed to be in a peaceful slumber, Kitty spoke aloud to her resting mentor. "I suppose it's Watson who is attempting to make contact. Regardless of the caller I cannot answer." She looked ahead at the blank porcelain wall. "Deal with it."

* * *

Kitty's voicemail picked up and Joan decided that it was time for her to return to the brownstone for a vintage 'house call'. She took her phone, grabbed her purse and wrapped her heaviest coat around herself as she left her apartment.

She hailed a cab and all the while began mentally arguing with herself whether or not she was worrying too much.

* * *

"Kitty..." Sherlock mumbled again from her shoulder. His voice was almost slurred from his weakened condition.

"Yes, Sherlock?" She did her best to keep her teeth from chattering as she acknowledged him.

"Am I good person?" He repeated his difficult question from earlier.

"I can't answer that."

Sherlock didn't respond audibly, but he opened his eyes and looked up at Kitty's blue tinged pallor, even her lips were almost purple from the cold she was enduring. He tried to lift his head away from Kitty's shoulder but he was too tired, he sighed weakly and heavily draped his arm across Kitty's waist instead.

Kitty was unsure of what this gesture was meant to convey. Was he trying to hug her? Was he trying keep her from leaving? Or was he trying to keep Kitty warm as she sat in the cold water with him? At this moment she didn't care what he was trying to do, but she did appreciate his warm arm (poorly) shielding her abdomen from the pouring shower water overhead.

Unconsciously Kitty resumed running her fingers through his hair and she felt Sherlock's tense body relaxing under her touch. Gently she moved her hand to his forehead to check the severity of his fever, much to her relief his skin was still unnaturally warm to the touch, but not nearly as hot as it had been earlier.

Without a means to check the time Kitty was unsure of exactly how long she and Sherlock had been sitting in the icy shower. Just as she was about to reach up to turn off the faucet she heard the front door of the brownstone open and shortly thereafter slam shut.

"Hello?" Joan called from the front door.

"Thank goodness." Kitty said out loud. "Upstairs!" She responded loudly, without shouting or even waking Sherlock in the process.

She listened intently as she heard Joan's footsteps ascending the wooden staircase, reach the top landing and slowly walk the length of the hallway until Joan realized that someone was in the bathroom.

Joan, who hadn't even bothered to remove her coat, peeked into the opened bathroom door and saw the duo sitting in the shower together. Kitty looking nearly hypothermic while Sherlock looked as though he had endured a physical ordeal that had pushed him to his absolute limits. "Oh my God." She hurried to the shower and turned off the water. "What happened?" She pressed her fingers to Sherlock's neck to check his pulse and other vitals.

"Well," Kitty began, still trying desperately to keep her teeth from chattering together. "his fever returned and the previously filled water in the tub had been drained. I improvised."

"It worked." Joan admitted as she pulled her hand from his forehead. "He's much cooler. And so are you from the look of it."

"It seems you haven't lost your touch doctor." Kitty replied sarcastically. "Think we can move him out of the tub so I can stand up?"

"Right." Joan took the arm Sherlock had draped over Kitty and wrapped it around her neck, while Kitty wrapped his other arm around her own neck.

While Joan pulled Sherlock over the edge of the tub Kitty helped lower him down to the ground. They laid him flat on his back while Kitty eagerly took a thick green towel from the towel rack and wrapped it around her cold, dripping body. Joan grabbed a second towel from the same rack and used it to dry Sherlock's skin as much as possible. She watched Kitty from the corner of her eye and could see how cold the young woman truly was.

"I've got this. You should go dry off and change into some warm clothes."

"Bless you." Kitty responded quickly before practically skipping out of the bathroom toward her own room.

Joan curled her legs under herself as she sat next to Sherlock on the floor. "You're lucky. You really know how to pick partners, do you know that?"

* * *

 

Kitty walked back into the bathroom, the green towel was now being used to dry her damp brunette hair. She had dressed into a relatively worn out pair of jeans and thick hoodie. She had also taken the liberty of removing her smudged, running make-up and reapply fresh powder to her naturally pale skin.

"You look warmer." Joan smiled gently and sincerely. She was wadding up the towel she used to dry Sherlock into a ball and placing it under his head. "And you're not blue anymore."

"Wonderful, I was never too fond of the 'Smurf' complexion myself." She tossed her damp towel into the tub. "How is he faring?"

"He's alright but he needs to keep resting." Joan gave her a sheepish look. "Think you can help me carry him back to his bedroom?"

Kitty sighed a little, more amused than annoyed at the request. "Sure, if I can lug his heavy carcass down the hall one way, I can do it again the other."

Together the two women grabbed ahold of Sherlock's arms and proceeded to wrap his limp limbs around their necks and shoulders once more. Working as a single force they sat Sherlock upright and slowly rose him up to his feet.

"Okay," Kitty carefully shifted her weight to keep him from falling over. "here we go."

Step by slow, clumsy step the patient duo managed to carry the ill consultant back down the hall and onto his messy bed. Brushing her wet hair out of her face Kitty shot Joan a look. "This is becoming quite routine, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately." Joan agreed as they gently laid Sherlock down onto the mattress.

To their surprise Sherlock a slight moan of pain despite being in such a deep slumber. Curious as to the cause of Sherlock's discomfort Joan checked his head for any sign of bump or bleeding, worried that Sherlock may have hit his head at some point during his collapse.

"What is it?" Kitty saw Joan examining Sherlock once again.

"I'm not sure, but he's in some kind of pain."

Kitty only took a moment to remember an odd behavior she saw Sherlock exhibit just before she hefted him into the shower. "Earlier he groaned in pain and clutched at the right side of his ribcage."

Believing Kitty's observation Joan ran her hands gently down Sherlock's ribcage to locate a potential source of pain or injury. It didn't take long for her to find the damaged area as Sherlock let out another moan of pain, yet remained asleep.

"He has a fractured a rib, maybe two." Joan took her hands from his chest. "He must've been coughing very hard for this type of injury to occur. He should've told us."

Kitty sat on the edge of the bed fascinated. "Are you certain? I thought that repetitive coughs breaking your ribs was an urban myth."

"No, that myth is in fact true. And fortunately for him the fractures are stable."

"What can we do for him?"

"Well, there's very little that can be done to treat fractured ribs other than limited physical exertion. But with his coughing fits I think wrapping his ribcage to prevent further damage would be best."

"There are ace bandages and gauze in the closet downstairs. I'll go get them." Kitty swiftly left the bedroom.

As Joan was waiting for Kitty to return she proceeded to try and make Sherlock as comfortable as possible on the bed. Propping a pillow under his head and neck to ensure his airway was clear and draping the soft quilt over his lower body, she placed her hand on his forehead to check the fever.

"Watson..." Sherlock slurred, only partially awake.

"Sherlock, how are you feeling?" She took her hand away from his forehead relieved with hos much cooler his skin felt.

"You've returned."

"Yeah, well, Kitty's still your protégé not partner. Babysitting someone as stubborn as you takes some experience."

"You're kindness is overwhelming, Watson."

Kitty returned to the room with the required bandages in hand. "How can I assist?" She handed the items to Watson.

"First..." Watson took a small hairband from her coat pocket to pull up her hair after tossing the coat aside. "I need you to sit him up as straight as possible so I can wrap his ribs, without hurting him."

"Right." Climbing awkwardly onto the bed Kitty did as she was instructed. Thankfully Sherlock was awake enough to hold most of his own weight and spare Kitty the exertion. "I believe I much prefer this method of treatment over cold showers."

After a few awkwardly silent minutes of wrapping Sherlock's ribs Kitty and Joan helped Sherlock lie flat on his back once more.

"Now, stay put." Joan scolded the sick man. "You need to rest or your health with relapse. Again."

"At this moment Watson, I agree with your assessment."

"Good." Joan rose from the bed with Kitty mimicking her moves. "I'm going to stay the night just in case. If you need anything..."

"I'm familiar with the concept of a house call. Thank you."

Kitty was exhausted and coveted sleep herself. She quietly took her leave of the bedroom and disappeared from sight.

Joan picked up her coat off the floor and turned toward the opened doorway.

"Watson?" Sherlock called after her, his eyes were shut and body relaxed beneath the covers.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"You are right."

"About what?"

"I am aware that I have a gift for selecting excellent partners."

Joan blushed a little at his (almost) compliment before walking out of the doorway and into the hall. She stepped down the staircase quietly toward the study. From the opened doorway she saw Kitty inside the kitchen placing her wet phone in a bag of rice. Kitty sensed Joan watching her and chose to greet the good doctor during their moment of calmness.

"Well? How is he holding up?"

"He might be a little sicker than I thought." Joan teased.

"What makes you say that?" Kitty crossed her arms and stared at Joan curiously.

"He actually thanked us..." She tilted her head. "Sort of."

* * *

 

As Joan wrapped herself up in a spare blanket and curled up on the small couch, Kitty handed her a small cup of fresh tea before sitting herself in the small chair across from Joan.

"May I ask you something?" Kitty sounded genuinely confused.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you agree to stay with Sherlock for as long as you did?"

Joan had been sipping at the tea and almost slipped a little on her lap when she heard the question. "What do you mean?"

"You were a skilled physician and surgeon before the... 'incident'," Kitty was trying to be sensitive to the topic. "and you continued to utilize your medical training by acting as a sober companion and Sherlock became your client. Why did you stay with him after you fulfilled your obligation as his companion?"

"Well," Joan put the tea down on the floor since there was no nearby table. "I found his line of work to be fascinating and rewarding. As a sober companion I was able to help people recover from their addictions, but working as his partner I was able to help families gain a sense of peace and closure after suffering atrocities."

"You find solving crimes far more lucrative than working in medicine? Seems like a rather odd career path for one to take."

"I won't deny that it's been strange, but I don't regret it."

"If you hadn't met Sherlock, would you still be a sober companion?"

"I don't know. I suppose I would. Why do you ask?"

Kitty clenched her hands into anxious fists and stared at the floor near her feet. "It's complicated. Forget I asked."

"Kitty, you can talk to me. Don't shut down, please."

Taking in a deep breath Kitty struggled to calm her nerves. She knew that by opening up about her trauma she would be able to work through it easier, but it would never truly go away. "When I was in London..." She took another breath. "When I was attacked in London, I was never the same person afterward. Very few people understand what it's like to be a victim."

"Survivor." Joan tried to correct her. "Kitty, you survived and still with us. Don't forget that."

"'Victim, 'survivor', regardless of the term the pain is still the same, as are the looks of pity that was pour down upon you by your own family and friends."

"I'm sorry."

Kitty laughed a little. "Everyone is sorry. Everyone feels bad. But nobody knows what to say or how to act, as if I'm carved from glass and require only the most delicate of touch."

"I didn't know." Joan was genuinely sympathetic toward Kitty's plight.

"No one does. But Sherlock, he didn't treat me like a victim or a survivor. He treated me like a person. I respect his demons and he respects mine. I've yet to be able to say that I trust him, but he is the currently the only man that I can trust because he's currently the only man of whom I respect."

Joan felt a little guilty, she knew she had looked at Kitty like a victim from time to time. Now it was her turn to open up. "Sherlock treats me the same way."

Kitty finally looked away from the floor and toward Joan. "How do you mean?"

"My own family and friends treated me like I was a fragile, frail shell of my former self after I chose to resign from the hospital. It was difficult enough trying to explain my reasons for becoming a sober companion, but when I chose to become a consultant for the N.Y.P.D. made for a very awkward conversation."

"I can imagine." Kitty smiled a little. "I guess we both chose to start our lives anew and the only person who understands this concept is a man who had chosen to do the same."

"We're lucky. He had to start over alone, when we started over we both had him to help guide us along the way."

Shrugging her shoulders Kitty finally relaxed and adjusted her posture in the chair. "I doubt he'll see it that way. Sherlock doesn't really strike me as a protective 'big brother' type."

Joan smirked a little. "I don't think he sees himself as a big brother either. I think he sees us as pieces in a very large puzzle."

* * *

From upstairs in his bedroom Sherlock found himself drifting somewhere between dream and wake. Despite his exhaustion his curiosity about the potential conversation between Joan and Kitty was too temping to ignore. Though a struggle he was able to focus his attention on the muffled voices from downstairs in the study and piece together a few words.

Eavesdropping is a specialty of his, as is lip reading.

He remained still in his bed, allowing his body to rest while his mind still raced. The very idea of being viewed as an older brother was less than appealing yet an intriguing notion that he was willing to expand upon.

* * *

"Are you still going to the support group?" Joan wanted to know more about Kitty's private time.

"Occasionally. I understand the reason for its existence but being reminded that I was attacked and that all the other women who are sitting next to me were also attacked does not build confidence nor security."

"Keep going." Joan finished her tea and placed the emptied cup on the floor again. "Sherlock was resistant to sobriety meetings, but in the end he found them to be somewhat beneficial."

"I hope you're right." Kitty checked her phone for the current time. "It's late. I'm tired. I wish to retire for the evening."

"Wait, before you go, I have one more question."

"Alright." Kitty glanced at Joan curiously. "What would you like to know?"

"After you put Sherlock in the shower, why did you stay with him?"

Kitty bit as her lower lip as she pondered over the question. "I'm not sure to be honest. Perhaps the idea of showering away ills is still a compulsion lingering from my... 'incident."

Joan wasn't convinced but could tell by the look in Kitty's eye that she wasn't lying either. "Okay. Good night."

Kitty turned to exit the room but stopped short and turned her focus back to Joan. "Might I ask you a question?"

"Shoot." Her voice was very calm and unguarded.

"When you two were partners, I know you took care of him when he fell ill or injured, during those moments did he ever ask you a relatively strange question?"

"Like what?"

"While we were sitting in the shower, he asked me if he was a good person."

Joan's eyes widened. "I know he's asked me odd questions from time to time, but nothing so..."

"Insightful?" Kitty finished.

"Yeah. What did you say?"

"I didn't know what to say, so I left the question unanswered."

"Must've been delirium from the fever." Joan tried to dismiss the emotional question as nothing to be concerned.

"You're probably right. Well, I won't keep you awake any longer. Goodnight Watson." Kitty turned on her heel and glided out of the room.

"Goodnight Kitty."

As Kitty left the study Joan leaned back on the sofa and found herself milling over the bizarre question: _Is Sherlock Holmes a good man?_

* * *

 

Joan was abruptly awakened from an otherwise peaceful slumber by someone suddenly kicking at the side of the couch. She opened her eyes to see Sherlock standing over her, his ribs still wrapped up but his pallor a much healthier shade than the night before. His posture was almost military with perfection and his eyes were focused intensely on her waking form.

"Morning Watson." He greeted flatly, almost sarcastically.

"Morning..." Joan rubbed her tired eyes with her hands. "I see you're feeling better."

"Much." He eyed her inquisitively as she slowly pulled herself upright on the couch, he continued on. "It's amazing how a single nights rest can rejuvenate a weary body with fresh life."

"I wouldn't know."

"Shouldn't you be at your apartment tending to Clyde?"

Joan sighed in a half amused, half exhausted manner. "Only you could be moments from death _, twice_ , in less than twenty-four hours, just to end up focusing on a turtle."

"Nonsense Watson. I am not focusing on a single turtle, I am merely concerned with Clyde's well-being considering he has yet to be fed this morning."

"Is this your 'subtle' way of asking me to leave?"

"Yes." Sherlock just stared at her gaging her response to his blunt request.

"Okay. Ill leave." Joan heavily swung her legs off the side of the couch and put her bare feet on the floor. "But before I go, I have to know how you're feeling."

"I feel Well. Ah, correction: I fell as well as one could possibly feel when recovering from two fractured ribs."

"Is the pain bearable?"

"Quite. Fortunately I had taken the liberties of increasing my overall threshold for pain during my brief stint in London. Pain is no longer an immediate concern, nor a potential threat to my sobriety."

"Great." Joan slipped her shoes back on and proceeded to gather the rest of her belongings. She checked her phone and was grateful to see that Andrew hadn't been trying to get in contact with her all night.

Sherlock spoke up again. "I assume you and Kitty had a pleasant chat last evening before turning in for the night."

Joan stopped fast in her tracks worried that he might feel resentful toward them. "We talked, yes."

"And she is still holding her own emotionally? Her traumatic event hasn't affected her judgment?"

"No, she's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. Although I also find it reassuring to ask a trusted colleague about the current health of another. Confirmation is key; you know this as well as I."

"Right." Slipping on her coat Joan headed for the front door. "Well, when you see Kitty, tell her thanks for all her help for me."

Sherlock nodded once to acknowledge Joan's request.

As his former partner left the brownstone, his current protégé emerged from her own bedroom. Her hair was slightly messy and she had small dark circles under her eyes from the previous days exhausting events. "Has Joan gone?"

"Yes. She left only a moment ago."

"Are you alright?" Kitty didn't want to babysit a sick consultant again. Alone.

"Indeed. I am fit enough to thumb through cold cases, whereas errands throughout the city may be a burden you will carry in my stead."

"Wonderful." Kitty put her hands in her hair and shook the messy strands loose. "I need coffee, shall I pour you a cup as well?"

"No thank you, I am well rested."

Kitty just stared at her mentor trying to sense whether or not he was lying. Unable to read his body language Kitty accepted his answer and chose not to press the matter further.

As Kitty turned to walk into the kitchen, Sherlock called out after her. "Kitty?"

"Yes, Sherlock?" She stopped in the opened kitchen doorway and leaned out of the frame toward Sherlock's direction.

"Thank you."

His answer struck her odd. "For what?"

"Despite everything that had transpired last night, you managed to tend to my needs, work efficiently with Watson and kept a promise that I had egregiously bestowed upon you during my delirium."

"Which was... what? Exactly?" Kitty was struggling to sift through the previous night's events.

Sherlock approached her calmly and gave her a look of appreciation before finally answering. "You didn't leave me."

**_-The End_ **


End file.
